We sold our dream home in the US to move into a rental abroad. Our family has less space, but our lifestyle improved. [Business Insider]
It was the kind of house you see in a real estate catalog and immediately assume belongs to someone else’s life. Four bedrooms, a sprawling backyard with a swing set, a kitchen island big enough to host Thanksgiving dinner, and a mortgage that felt like a second job. My wife, Maria, and I spent five years curating that home. We painted the nursery ourselves, planted the magnolia tree by the driveway, and replaced the carpet with hardwood floors because we believed we were building a legacy.
We sold it last spring.
Not because we had to. Not because we lost our jobs or fell into debt. We sold it because we realized the house was eating us alive—not financially, but emotionally. We were spending more time maintaining the lawn than lying on it. More weekends fixing the gutters than exploring the city. More energy worrying about resale value than actually living. So we did something that felt terrifying at first, then liberating: we packed two suitcases each, put the rest in storage, and moved into a rental apartment abroad. Two bedrooms. No garden. No garage. No spare room for guests.
And honestly? It was the best decision we ever made.
Why we traded square footage for freedom
The house in the suburbs was beautiful, but it came with invisible chains. The mortgage was manageable, but only if we both worked full-time. The yard was perfect for the kids, but it required weekly maintenance that ate up our Saturdays. The open-plan living room was great for entertaining, but we rarely entertained because we were too tired to host. We were living in a space designed for a life we weren’t actually living.
When we told friends we were moving abroad—Spain, specifically—they assumed we had inherited money or landed remote jobs that paid Silicon Valley salaries. The truth is less glamorous. I took a pay cut to work as a freelance journalist, and Maria switched to a part-time teaching role at an international school. Our combined income dropped by about 30 percent. But so did our expenses. Our monthly rent in a sun-drenched apartment in Valencia costs less than half what we were paying for the mortgage, property taxes, and homeowners insurance in the States. We have no lawn to water, no roof to repair, no HOA fees. The landlord handles the broken dishwasher, and we handle the tapas.
Less space, more life
I won’t pretend downsizing was seamless. The first month, we tripped over each other constantly. Our two kids, ages 6 and 9, shared a room for the first time, and there were theatrical protests about personal space. I missed my home office—a real room with a door. Now I write at the kitchen table, which doubles as a dining table and homework station. It’s cramped. It’s loud. But it’s also alive.
What we lost in square footage, we gained in proximity. We eat dinner together every night because there’s nowhere else to go. We walk to the market every morning because the fridge is small and we buy fresh. We spend weekends at the beach instead of at Home Depot. The kids have fewer toys, but they have more freedom—they ride bikes to the plaza, play soccer with neighbor kids, and speak Spanish with an accent that makes their grandparents tear up. We don't own a car. We share a washing machine with the building. And I have never, in my adult life, felt this unburdened.
The hidden costs of owning a dream home
There’s a cultural script in America that equates homeownership with success. You work hard, you buy a house, you fix it up, you sell it for a profit, and you repeat until you die in a retirement community. But nobody tells you how much that script costs in terms of time, energy, and mental health. The mortgage stress. The constant pressure to upgrade. The guilt of not using the spare room. The fear that your property value will drop. The weekend projects that never end.
Our rental in Valencia has scuffed floors, a weird corner in the living room, and a shower that sometimes decides to be cold. But it also has a terrace where I drink coffee and watch the sunrise. It has neighbors who knock on the door to invite us to paella. It has zero pressure to be perfect. It’s not an asset. It’s a home.
What we learned about lifestyle vs. space
I don’t think the American dream is a lie. I think it’s incomplete. The dream shouldn’t end at owning a house; it should include the freedom to leave it. We chose to live in a smaller space so we could have a bigger life—more travel, more time together, less financial anxiety. We gave up the guest room, but we gained the ability to actually host friends from abroad when they visit because we’re not exhausted. We lost the backyard, but we gained a city that feels like an endless playground.
Would I recommend this to everyone? No. It’s not a one-size-fits-all solution. Some people thrive in the suburbs with a white picket fence. Some people need a garage and a workshop. But if you’re reading this and feeling trapped by your own property, if you’re spending more time maintaining your home than enjoying it, consider the possibility that the perfect house might be the one you don’t own. The one that doesn’t own you back.
We don’t know if we’ll stay in Spain forever. Maybe we’ll move again, rent another apartment in another country, or maybe we’ll buy a tiny flat somewhere and call it permanent. But for now, we have less space, more freedom, and a life that feels like ours. That’s the trade we didn’t know we needed to make.
Ahmed Abed – News journalist